They were all friends. Some were in love. Some were confused, out of sorts, lonely, conceited, spiteful, drunk, stoned, delusional, dumbfounded, distant, warm and scratchy, cold and fuzzy. Some weren't talking, while other couldn't help but get offended by the inclination of shutting the fuck up for once. Just to fully listen for a moment, to the sound of the words as they repeated softly in everyone's blue head.
"This is the end of this for now and possibly forever..."
And from here the ad space varied depending on the person and what they were still content with holding onto.
Those who had beds upstairs or close by thought "But at least I can pass out and forget about this mess tomorrow morning."
Those who had already slowly re-guided the tape across the top of multiple cardboard boxes thought "But at least I don't have to come back for any special guest appearances."
And finally those who had since moved on and yet returned for one last hurrah thought "But at least there's some piece of me that will still be here, some minor nick in the plaster, some shattered ego staining the carpet, some final stomp/clamp combination."
This last group co-founded the last gasp of 111 Freeman Avenue in the best way they knew how, considering all past and future limitations; their watermarked degrees and letters of recommendation sitting tiredly in top desk drawers. It began with a shattered bottle of red win in the basement; the sound only slightly eclipsing the distorted rumble of punk rock. Then came the moshing, those in sandals and open-toed shoes cutting themselves on crimson glass. Fists and shoulders, knees and knuckles became like thorns on roses as soon the lowered ceiling was slowly but surely getting punched up, up and away at from underneath. Dirt, sweat and sentimental indifference flew around the space as bass lines thumped the circling hearts of the connected few and filtered many.
Fluids and temporary illnesses were exchanged. Hairs were tugged or annoyingly spit out. Smoke assumed the role of mediator; water drunkenly left aloof in coffee mugs, half-full. Smudges formed on bruises. Lights flickered on counter tops. Alarms were re-set, appliances unplugged. Saliva soothed wounded perceptions of the incoming warm months. All silences eventually took comfort in the scratchy remains of an inexperienced era that was finally realizing just how quickly time could pass itself by.
And then there was Jim, who had missed out on the communal destruction, choosing to get high on the roof and watch the sky. There was Jim who had previously fallen hard for Amelia before his psychedelic phase, followed by a much better understanding of how the world never stopped speaking just to hear its own melodic voice. There was Jim who couldn't turn down the final invitation before a much needed retreat, later re-dubbed an escape, away from those he knew too well and yet still managed to somehow surprise him.
There was Jim, who fell asleep next to somebody, who could have very well changed the course of things to come in his life. There was Jim who thought, "This is the end of this for now and possibly forever, but at least the sound of her breathing is enough to help me forget about tomorrow." There was Jim who already had the majority of his bags packed.
And finally there was Jim who woke up alone, after dreaming about millions of things to say to her, and yet unfortunately was at a complete and total loss for words at the sight of her sweaty and claustrophobic imprint on the sheets. His original promise had expired along with those of all his tunneling friends.
"I will continue to spin somewhere within this crush I have on you until it becomes unhealthy for the both of us."
There was Jim forgetting to wave goodbye.